


Lachrimæ - Stress Relief

by ZeroNoctem



Series: Lachrimæ [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bloodlust, Ficlet, Fist Fights, Gen, Hitman!Jean, Hitman!Marco, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroNoctem/pseuds/ZeroNoctem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are skilled at what they do, guns for hire and no regrets. Or so they like to say. When they entered the business of covert operations they didn’t anticipate quite how far they would fall, or the price they’d end up paying for such a life. Add into the mix an even deeper, darker underground than Jean could ever imagine existing and there are bound to be some tears - and blood - spilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lachrimæ - Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is a view into a situation in Jean and Marco's life before the beginning of the main Lachrimæ timeline. Here they are 21 and '22' years old respectively.

The dull sound of a fist connecting to a jaw was muffled by harsh panting and a curse as Jean stumbled backward. Numb pain blossoming from the point of impact and blood filling his mouth where his teeth had grazed the inside of his cheek. His knuckles were red and raw from landing his own hits against his opponent for the night, a drunkard that had started to harass one of the female patrons of the bar he’d been at a bit too much.

It wasn’t as if Jean was particularly protective of women, he held them in as much contempt as he usually did men, but any excuse for a fight was valid when he was frustrated.

At times he became stressed enough that nothing seemed to quell the uneasiness and irritable feeling quite like a good physical fight. It was exhilarating and at the same time the pain had a cathartic effect on him. It wasn’t like he got off on the pain, it was more like a deserved punishment - his way of self harm that had become a habit developed in his teenage years - when he’d started his not so savoury job. Although there were times when the adrenaline of the fight made his body react in a way that had nothing to do with the violence of it, it was just a physiological reaction. That’s what he told himself.

Wiping the blood dripping from his nose with the back of his hand Jean grinned at the older man. It was painfully clear that the younger of them was at a disadvantage both size and strength wise.

“What the fuck’re you grinning at you freak.” Slurred words preceded another swing toward him but this time Jean managed to turn in time so that the fist connected with the side of his head instead of his face.

“Ha-h.” falling back against the wall he sagged with vertigo, vision blurred for a moment. “It’s just… you’re such a fucking moron… hahaa…” Taunting.

“I’m gonna fuck you up you little shit!” The over confident man gave a snort of anger as he approached again.

Muffled voices started to encroach on the scene from somewhere down the street that the alleyway was situated off of. Jean fumbled with a hand, grabbing at debris stacked against the dumpster next to him and wrapped his fingers around what felt like part of a wooden pallet. He yanked and it stuck, so he turned his back on his opponent for a second, pressing a foot to the side of the smashed pallet and pulled the plank free with a grunt of effort.

Just in time he turned, swinging it through the hair in a sloppy arc as the other man was about to land another hit. A sickening ‘thunk’ echoed out and then the sound of the older man crumpling to the floor with a yelp made Jean feel a spike of adrenaline.

He had little time to bask in his seeming victory though - dirty as it had been - because the muffled voices had come closer and he could make out words of concern over the noise they had just been making.

“Ugh - It was fun. Hey, I’ll fuck you up if you come back to the bar! Get it!” He got only a groan in response. He’d probably rendered the man semi-conscious with the strike but as usual he felt no empathy.

Turning on his heel Jean ran down the alleyway and to the left, just in time to get out of sight. As he ran he could hear the sudden concerned exclamations of the two men who had come across his opponent. He didn’t stop though.

Pain throbbed in his head and jaw, his nose felt stuffy from the blood now drying there and his fists were sore, but he felt excited. He felt like his built up stress had dissipated - just a little - and his body felt heavy and exhausted. As if he could sleep for days, perhaps he’d be able to get more than three hours sleep tonight.

Ten minutes after he’d run from the scene Jean was climbing the creaky metal staircase at the side of the old apartment building. The neighbourhood was quiet and dark, no lights were on in the building although to be honest Jean was sure only him and two others actually lived there right now.

Opening the lightweight metal door to the apartment he all but fell into the kitchen area and kicked it shut behind him. Dropping heavily to sit on the small step he removed his shoes and fell backwards, arms stretched out either side of him though the left was bent at the elbow and resting on the wall of the small space.

It was quiet inside, the tick of an analogue clock was the only thing breaching the silence as he lay panting and dizzy. He dozed for what seemed like hours but was probably seconds, until the light came on and blinded him making Jean groan out his displeasure and throw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the ungodly glow.

“Wha’ya do that for? Shit, blinding me how’m I gonna work if you singe my goddamn optical nerves.” Jean mumbled, words slightly slurred through the mixture of adrenaline and alcohol.

“Jean.” The voice was soft but sounded exasperated. “Firstly, you can’t go blind from a few milliseconds of artificial light. Secondly, how many times are you going to do this? If you get caught-” Jean cut him off.

“Marco for the last fuckin’ time I’m not gonna get caught from a shitty street brawl.” Jean rolled his shoulders and moved his arm enough to look at the man standing a few feet away across the kitchen.

Marco had his arms crossed over his broad, toned chest and a decidedly unimpressed expression plastered across his features. Freckles dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose always drew Jean’s attention even when he was trying his hardest not to notice them, or the three on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow that made a perfect triangle. Tanned skin that held a slightly cool parlour at the same time, something Jean couldn’t really put his finger on but gave Marco a kind of ethereal quality. And those fucking eyes. The warmest brown he’d ever seen were staring down at him beneath furrowed brows and then Marco was moving and squatting down above Jean’s head.

The view was breathtaking and Jean covered his eyes with his arm again to block it out, not wanting to see the other man so close when he was still so high on adrenaline, body hot and on edge and he could so, _so_ easily get a boner when he was this worked up.

There was a hand in his hair then, fingers skirting through the strands before sticking and pulling enough to make Jean grab at Marco’s wrist to stop the movement. “It’s full of blood, Jean.” Marco said, hand lingering and brushing Jean’s fingers for just a second before he was pulling away and standing up. “Go and have a shower, clean up. It’s not a bad wound.”

“I know that.” Jean grumbled and sat up, feeling an odd mix of disappointment and arousal. He stood then,  brushing his jeans off as if that would make any difference to the grime and grit embedded into the weave from his fight. “Ugh, way to be a downer.” He was only half honest.

“As always, now go and shower. Leave your clothes outside the door they’re gross.” Marco said, scrunching his nose slightly as Jean stuck his tongue out and walked across the room to the tiny hallway.

Jean missed the way Marco bought his bloodied fingertips - from where he had touched Jean’s head wound - to his mouth. Missed the way Marco’s lips trembled and his expression turned almost pained, as his mouth opened and he stood motionless for a long moment. His breath hitching as he scrunched his eyes shut until there were colours and lights dancing across his vision from the force of it, fisting his hand and clenching his teeth and rushing over to the kitchen sink to wash away the blood as if guilty of a heinous crime.

Marco heard the shower start, and he was still scrubbing at his fingers. He turned the tap off, though, because Jean would get a freezing cold shower if he kept it on. Cleaned of any trace of Jean’s blood, Marco bought his fingers to his lips again, this time hesitating only a moment before sucking on the tip of his index and middle fingers. They tasted soapy and he was thankful for that, thankful that he hadn’t given in to the urges, thankful that he could remain composed and restrained in-front of Jean even if he was reduced to this when he was out of sight.

Marco breathed out a frustrated groan around his fingers before dropping his hands to his sides and walking over to the pile of dirty clothes outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to put them in the machine for tomorrow ok? I’ll leave you some new clothes outside the door.” He paused for just a moment before saying. “Good night, Jean.”

“Thanks, Marco.” Came the soft reply from within, muffled by the shower, but Marco heard it. He heard it and it made his heart ache.

  
On the other side of the door Jean was standing motionless under the hot spray of water, fingers clutched in his hair above the wound Marco had touched a few minutes before. Stupid, compassionate, beautiful Marco.


End file.
